Information Gathering
by InSilva
Summary: Set early on in Rusty and Danny’s career, a one-shot in which Rusty finds himself in company he’d rather not keep. Warnings for violence.


**Information gathering by InSilva**

Disclaimer: I do not own Rusty or Danny (long mental pause while I contemplate _that_ thought) nor any aspect of the "Ocean's" trilogy.

A/N: Oh, a little one-shot that came out of nowhere and bit me after watching "Ocean's 13". Not sure this entirely qualifies as slash but I'm rating it anyway just in case.

* * *

Cecilia Gladwell, known to her friends and associates as CeCe, is enjoying herself. And if she's honest, she does not know many of her friends and associates who would not also be enjoying themselves given the situation. Situation being, she is sitting opposite the young and handsome Daniel Ocean, basking in his charm, revelling in his flirtatious wit. 

The trouble is she knows he is only here for information and the information she has is worth a couple of drinks at best. _Ten years ago…maybe even five years ago…_she pushes the thought away together with the contents of her third margarita.

"So…" Danny begins and she finishes the sentence for him.

"So you want me to tell you about Bryn Gower and the combination to his safe."

He raises his eyebrows in appreciation of her directness and she thinks _what the hell._

"I could tell you over breakfast," she suggests, working her lashes.

"Thanks, CeCe," he says, acknowledging the offer, "but I really need to know now."

She sighs. It had been worth a try. And it was worth a try to warn him, too.

"Bryn's got a reputation, Danny."

"I know, Cece." He's polite but insistent.

"I mean he's dangerous."

"Cece, I know." And now he's insistent but polite.

She gives up.

"Bryn carries the combination on his person at all times."

And she can see him frowning, thinking about setting up a dip.

"Literally on his person," she explains. "I used to date the tattooist. Before he wrapped his car around a tree, anyway."

Danny's brow clears and she knows that now he is considering finding a friendly girl to get...well, to get friendly.

"He doesn't use call girls," she clarifies and before Danny can even start to contemplate some sort of massage parlour set-up, she leans in and delivers the bombshell.

* * *

Rusty pushes open the door to his apartment, keys in one hand, Coke in the other, bag with a burger clenched in his teeth. 

Danny is at the table studying a newspaper. He throws Rusty a cursory glance and goes back to the broadsheet.

"Well?" Rusty asks, pushing the door shut and delving into the bag.

"Job's off," Danny replies tersely.

Rusty stops in mid-bite.

"CeCe didn't come through?" he asks.

He is rewarded with a sidelong glance.

"You think that?"

"No," Rusty grins. "Not for a moment."

He sits down opposite Danny who has bent his head over the paper again and waits. Something in Danny's mood puzzles him. They've been working together for a few years now and Danny is all about calm and control. Right now, he seems tense, twitchy almost, and that is not like Danny.

Eventually, the silence grows to the point where one of them has to break it. Rusty says nothing, eating the burger. This is Danny's play and he wants to know why he's folding.

"Bryn has the combination tattooed on his body," Danny says, giving in and pushing the paper away. "On a certain part of his body," he adds with emphasis. "It can only be read fully when he is fully aroused."

"Ouch," and then, "Impressive."

"CeCe said that when he was having the tattoo done, he was reading a magazine full of slim blonds with high cheekbones."

"Then we need to find a friendly girl-"

"Blonds," Danny corrects. "Not blondes."

"Ah…oh…"

There is a silence.

"I thought of Leon-"

"Inside," Rusty says, sipping the Coke.

"Simeon-"

"Europe."

"Larry-"

"Married."

Danny looks at him in genuine shock.

Rusty shrugs. "Who knew?"

"It's a world full of surprises," Danny muses before adding "anyway, then I ran out of ideas" and picking up the paper again.

And now, as he studies the top of Danny's head, Rusty understands the twitchiness. Because Danny has thought of the obvious answer, has obviously thought of it straightaway and just as quickly dismissed it.

"What about me?" he says quietly.

Danny looks up sharply and shakes his head.

"No."

"Don't I meet the criteria?"

Danny doesn't bother answering that one.

"It'd just be another part. In, out, slip him something before it all gets too serious."

Danny pauses and Rusty can see he is tempted. They've been digging this hole out for some time and Danny badly wants to push Bryn Gower down into it. The combination to the safe is key.

"This is as up close and personal as you'd ever get and the man is dangerous."

"I know, Danny."

"He hurts people."

"That's why we're doing this."

They look at each other for the longest time.

"Let me do it."

"Alright."

* * *

They decide that sooner is preferable to later and Rusty goes shopping. Only once he is dressed in the tight-fitting pants and the burgundy shirt does he let Danny see him. He's dyed his hair a richer blond and he's decided on a Texan accent. He called it just another part but there won't be opportunity for wigs and moustaches to hide behind. This is going to be as close to his true self as he will ever get. 

"Well?"

Danny looks him over.

"I definitely would," he says and is pleased to see Rusty's grin. It breaks up the tension filling the room. As confident as Rusty acts, they both know this is riskier than it should be. In years to come when they are older and wiser, they might deem it too risky. At the moment, though, they are young and confident and they have what seems to be, if not a watertight plan, then at least a simple one. Besides which, they really want that combination.

"You got the Mickey?"

Rusty pats his pocket and nods.

"Don't hang around."

"I'll be home before midnight."

Danny's eyes narrow. Something…there is something…

"What is it?" he asks, knowing Rusty won't ever volunteer it.

Rusty looks away and back again.

"Did you ever…?"

Danny blinks.

"No. Though I--"

"Oh, I don't doubt."

But Danny senses that Rusty is going through the motions with the banter and then he glimpses the speck of fear, fear that he might screw this up royally all because of a little thing like ignorance, and Danny thinks _what the hell_ and pulls him close, running one hand over the front of the chiffon shirt, pushing one hand into the newly blond hair and pressing his mouth to Rusty's, letting his lips cover Rusty's, gently pushing his way into Rusty's yielding mouth with his tongue, part of him reflecting that Rusty tasted damn good, part of him enjoying the softness, the difference of Rusty, and a deeper, darker part of him wondering what it would be like to explore that softness, that difference further.

He breaks the embrace, standing back.

Rusty is standing there looking at him, his fingers on his mouth, and for a moment, Danny wonders if he has gone too far. This could be the end of a beautiful friendship.

"You'd better remember to call me," Rusty says lightly and Danny gives a rich laugh of relief.

* * *

Rusty spots Bryn Gower easily and it is just as easy to play the out-of-towner, let himself be picked up by him, be bought a few drinks, be invited back to his hotel room. He doesn't know it but the sight of his waxed chest in the see-through shirt brings the combination up in full. 

He also doesn't know that Danny has followed him. Danny has watched Bryn, in his forties, thickset and powerfully built, and he has seen the look of predatory desire in the man's eyes. It has nothing to do with kindly interest in a young man new in town and everything to do with possession and lust. He does not like it. Not one little bit.

* * *

They are accompanied in the elevator by two of Bryn's men and Rusty's nostrils twitch with the mixture of sweat and threat they exude. As they get to the floor, Bryn gives them a nod of dismissal and he and Rusty step out alone on to the hotel corridor. 

As they walk, there is no talk. Rusty finds his mouth unusually full of cotton-wool every time he opens it. Luckily, Bryn does not seem the talkative kind.

Bryn pushes open the door to his suite and ushers Rusty in, shutting the door behind them. Lights aren't needed. The drapes are back and the room is flooded with the blaze of the Strip.

"You've got a fine view," Rusty begins but Bryn immediately pushes him up against the wall and forces his mouth on his.

All at once, Rusty knows it was a mistake to let Danny kiss him because Danny has been all about tenderness and passion and Bryn is anything but. It would have been better not to have the comparison to make.

"You've got a pretty mouth," Bryn observes, walking into the centre of the room and depositing himself on the couch. "It's the first thing I noticed about you."

Rusty wills himself to unfreeze and he takes a couple of steps into the room, eyes on Bryn.

"Can I fix you a drink, Mr Gower?" he asks.

"Not for me. You help yourself. The bar's over there."

He sees the crystal glinting and he heads towards it and pours himself a whisky because he knows he's going to need it. Then he suddenly realises that without the drink, he can't administer the Mickey and his mouth goes dry.

"You sure you don't want--" he turns and almost drops his glass.

Bryn is sitting, legs spread, fly open, full combination on show.

"I don't indulge, son. Not when I want to enjoy the performance."

Unwillingly, Rusty draws closer, eyes fixed on the numbers. _7,4,5,8,6,2,2._ He realises he's staring and he asks, "Why the numbers?"

Bryn smiles.

"I like to see how far I can fit into pretty mouths such as yours. I'm hoping you can reach at least the 4."

Then Rusty's brain wakes up. He has the information he needs. Now, he just needs to get out of there.

"Mr Gower, I-I'm sorry," he stutters, "but I don't think I can go through with this."

Bryn exhales slowly then stands up and tucks himself away.

"I understand, son. First time?"

He sounds understanding, sympathetic, compassionate even and for the sake of a smooth exit, Rusty warily stays where he is and nods even though his senses are screaming at him to run. Bryn moves closer, full of reassuring smiles that don't reach his eyes.

"I like to hear that. It means you're fresh meat."

And then things happen in a blur. Bryn punches him hard in the face and he drops the glass. Before he can do anything, he's pushed to the floor and Bryn is on top of him, forcing his mouth on his once more, ripping at his shirt. With an effort, he pulls free but Bryn gets to him before he can get more than two steps away, catching his ankle, bringing him down, face-first on to the deep shag-pile. Then Bryn is on top of him, his weight pushing him down, one hand gripping his hair, his mouth close to his ear.

"Listen to me."

And Rusty cannot do anything but.

"You're not the first to get cold feet and I doubt you'll be the last. This is how this is going to play. Either we keep this between ourselves or I call in my boys."

Rusty focuses on the cell phone that has appeared in front of him.

"And my boys are going to want to join in the fun. Understand?"

He tries to shift under Bryn's weight but the man is bulky and knows how to use his size. Bryn gives a little laugh and allows him enough room to turn on to his back so that he can look up at the man straddling his chest, pinning his arms to the floor with his knees.

Rusty stares up into eyes as dark as Danny's and just as used to getting their own way. The similarities end there, though, because these eyes are cruel and vicious and full of sadistic promise.

"I asked whether you understood."

He hesitates for a moment, looking for the escape that is always there before realising that it isn't. He doesn't consciously notice hope evaporating from his skin but he feels the clamminess its absence leaves behind.

"Yes," he whispers. "Yes, I understand."

"Good boy," Bryn tucks the phone back into his pocket and is almost purring as he descends on Rusty's mouth, forcing his way in with his tongue. Rusty can taste blood as his lips are carelessly pushed over teeth. He closes his eyes trying to push away what is happening but Bryn sits up and slaps him hard.

"You don't get to go anywhere, son. You're staying right here with me the whole time."

Suddenly, the lights go on and Bryn rolls off him with a snarl.

"You know I don't want to be disturbed!" he spits, expecting one of his own men.

Instead, as Rusty disbelievingly sees as he gets shakily to his feet, it's Danny. In a Stetson.

"I come to take you home, bro," he announces in a thick Texan drawl. "Daddy's worried about you and I must confess I am too. This city has led you astray."

"Who are you?" Bryn is approaching apoplexy.

"My name's Jimmy-Bob Crawley and that there's my brother, John-boy. If you'll be excusing us, sir, I promised my Daddy I'd fetch him home so that Momma can stop praying for him."

Wordlessly, Rusty ghosts behind Danny to the door and out before Bryn can get over the disappointment, shock and anger and call in reinforcements. Danny pockets the master key and they move quickly through the hotel corridors, out a back fire escape and into the waiting convertible. For once, Danny drives.

* * *

He says nothing though he can see the marks on his face and the bruised lips and the ripped shirt. 

He says nothing though he knows what he interrupted.

He says nothing because he feels guilty as hell and doesn't want to ask the question.

* * *

He says nothing though he is eternally grateful. 

He says nothing though he knows answers are due.

He says nothing because right now, he doesn't want to say a thing.

* * *

Back in the apartment, Rusty goes to freshen up and grimaces at his own reflection. It's going to be a couple of days before the marks die down. He drops the ripped shirt into the bin and pulls on a white T. It hides the nail marks down his chest. 

Danny is waiting with a glass of bourbon.

"Anything stronger?" he quips and Danny smiles.

* * *

Danny watches him sip the liquor and he bites the inside of his lip. 

"7,4,5,8,6,2,2," Rusty says offhandedly. "The combination."

And suddenly, Danny wants to ask many things, questions burning through him so fiercely that he's surprised they don't tumble out of his mouth of their own accord. He controls himself and gives a lazy grin.

"Good. I'm going to enjoy taking him down."

"I'll drink to that," Rusty says, draining his glass a little too quickly and reaching for another.

Danny sees what is happening but he remains silent. When your partner, your very best friend, has been…and you let it…you knew, and you let it…OK, so you stopped it, but even so…

He lets Rusty drink some more and then some more still. Even though he shares the bottle with him, he remains stone-cold sober. He helps Rusty strip to the white T and boxers and then helps him into the bed. Then he dims the lights, sits in the chair at the foot of the bed, watches his partner, his best friend, doze and waits.

* * *

The nightmare arrives with a vengeance. Bryn and his men and the hotel room. He is fighting, by God is he fighting, with every ounce of strength he has, with every bit of ancestral Irish grit in his blood, but it's not enough. They're stronger and they're holding him down. He can smell the sour apples of the chemical shampoo in the carpet and somewhere there is whisky spilt and somewhere there is blood. His blood, he realises.

He manages to twist round and then wishes that he hadn't. Bryn's gaze bears down on him and he cannot close his eyes, cannot move at all…as Bryn bends his face to his, he starts to scream…

"It's alright, Rusty, it's alright," the words are being whispered urgently and he wakes to find Danny at his side, shaking his shoulder.

"I…I…" he manages before the shuddering starts and then Danny has pulled him to him and is holding him until it all goes away.

"Forgive me." The words are muttered somewhere above Rusty's hair, so softly that he almost doesn't catch them.

Rusty doesn't bother replying to that one.

He pushes himself free and looks up in the half-light into Danny's face, reading guilt and rawness. He is touched. Danny never leaves himself this open.

A hundred different words hover on his lips that he knows he does not need to say. Instead, he settles for:

"You cannot carry off a Stetson."

With a chuckle, Danny sits back on the edge of the bed, emotions firmly back in check. Then the smile disappears and he is serious.

"We're going to get him, Rusty," he promises.

"We damn well better."

Danny grins.

"Get some sleep."

"Mmph." Rusty's head has already buried itself back in the pillow.

For the very, very briefest of moments, the tiniest part of Danny contemplates pulling him close again and kissing away the memory so that he can replace it with something infinitely more pleasurable.

Then the moment passes and he pours himself another drink.

* * *


End file.
